


Blood Magic

by the_other_lutece_sister



Series: propunk one-shots [4]
Category: Orphan Black (TV), propunk - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/F, propunk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 20:38:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7589227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>propunk in fairytale land?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Magic

**Author's Note:**

> so, I wrote the first paragraph, forgot about it for ages and then I had the urge to finish it today. I have no idea what's going on!

Rachel Duncan rises, like a phoenix still warm from the fire, like a vampire clawing it’s way out of the grave, hungry for something it can’t quite define as yet. Once it sees blood for the first time, it knows, it knows.

She sat on the throne, the chosen daughter, everything she had ever wanted lay before her. Except one thing.

The rebel Sarah Manning had outfoxed her again, escaped into the wilderness outside the walls, limping, bleeding, weak, desperate.

She needed to be brought back to heel.

 

Rachel rides out on the hunt after several excursions by her agents fail to raise the rebel. Her horse is large and glossy and so white it hurts your eyes to look at it. She called it Lady Vain.

She rides out into the woods, alone. She rides for hours, occasionally stopping to sniff the air. Finally, she finds a tiny track, hidden under a mess of brambles and dead leaves. A spot of blood on the ground fills the air around her with a sweet scent.

Here.

She uses her carved ivory cane to push the branches apart. More spots of blood lead her to a low cave, a den, a lair for wounded lionesses to lick their wounds. If she stands very still and is very quiet, she can hear the laboured breathing of the animal within. The smile on her face is not of relief or compassion, or anything of that ilk.

The smile on Rachel’s face is a wound, a bleeding cut, it was satisfaction and victory and control. It was death.

She moved silently, like a snake, into the mouth of the cave. The darkness within swelled and breathed and subsided and she heard the desperately quiet scrabbling of prey trying to avoid capture. It was almost amusing, how Sarah kept trying to run. She suspected Sarah would try to run even if her feet were chopped off. Rachel considered this for a moment, tapping a silver nail against her bottom lip. How far would she crawl? She filed the thought away. Time enough for that later.

The moonstone set into her cane glowed, casting it’s soft light upon a dusty black and blood-splattered figure. Sarah squinted and tried to scrabble up the rock wall beside her, but slipped and fell onto her right leg, letting out a strangled scream. One of Rachel’s own arrows, kissed by Rachel’s own lips, had pierced her in the thigh there. It wasn’t a poison, not really, just an inducement to obedience. First it slowed you down, then you stopped running and took to cover, then...you came to heel.

 

Rachel moved closer and Sarah tried to push herself backwards through solid rock, her dark eyes glittering with desperation. Rachel had seen that look in a thousand different eyes, even in her own, once. But that was a very long time ago and now, here she was, more powerful than ever and the rebel floundering in the dirt at her feet. She held the cane closer and examined the mud-and-blood covered face. Sarah had stopped trying to move now. 

She looked up at Rachel with an expression very much like relief.

Rachel knelt beside her, and placed her hand over the arrow wound, gently at first, soothingly. Then she leaned her weight down and Sarah whimpered, lips trembling with the pain.

“I can fix this. You know I can fix this.” Rachel murmured. “All you need to do is ask it of me.”

Sarah hissed at her. “No help of yours comes without a price.” But her eyes were now hesitant and searching.

Rachel laughed. “You know the price, Sarah.” She set the cane to standing in the centre of the cave, then ran her other hand down the left thigh, feeling the muscles twitch under the rough fabric. Her fingers traced back up the thigh, ran up Sarah's ribs, brushed over her breasts and settled around her throat. Her head tilted up towards Rachel's, lips open slightly, as if hypnotised by the touch. Rachel dug her fingers into the wound again, briefly, just to see those lips open wider. They obliged. Her own mouth parted and she leant down to taste Sarah, to taste the fear and pain and the defiance on the verge of surrender. 

 

She felt Sarah sob into her mouth, then give in, pressing against her, tongue searching. Rachel drank up her insubordination, her suffering. It tasted better than wine. 

“Please,” she heard Sarah sigh, “please…”

Rachel gave a smile, teeth gleaming. “Please?”

 

Sarah looked down, voice shaking. In pain or desire, it was difficult to tell.

“Please, “ she said again, “My Queen.”

Rachel’s smile didn’t change but her teeth seemed to grow sharper.

She placed her hand on the wound again, palm centered and fingers spread. A deep red glow flared then subsided. Sarah’s face slowly relaxed as the healing took effect and the red-hot centre of pain ebbed away.

 

Rachel stood up abruptly, and looked down at her.

“Betray me again,” she said evenly, “and the next arrow will pierce your heart. And even that will not be a quick death, Sarah.”

Sarah swallowed and nodded, getting to her feet. Rachel continued staring at her, as if waiting for something.  _ Gods damn it.  _ She bowed, sweeping her arm out in an almost mocking gesture.

  
Rachel lifted her chin. The rebel would need more corrections. But that could wait until _after_ they had returned to the castle and she had been bathed...  


**Author's Note:**

> 'And I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding  
> Right before the lord  
> All the words are gonna bleed from me  
> And I will think no more
> 
> And the stains comin' from my blood tell me, "Go back home." '  
>  -seven nation army by the white stripes
> 
>  
> 
> look, do yourself a favour and go and listen to the Postmodern Jukebox version of this song. The vocals are wooo baby *fans face*


End file.
